The Heart of the Matter

I come from a long line of grudge holders. We are world class in latching onto the smallest thing and using it as an excuse to be bitter for years, even decades. I didn't recognize this tendency in myself until I was in my thirties. Anger that had been simmering in me for eons finally erupted, consuming my thoughts and poisoning my heart.

I will never forget the day when I realized the self-destructive nature of refusing to forgive. I was in the Oak Hills park with my children, helping one of them on the swing. It was a typical overcast Portland day, nothing special. As I moved from child to child, ruminating on my grudge, a voice spoke to my heart reminding me of the bibical admonition: Judge not lest ye be judged. The weight of that epiphany struck me: I would be judged, by God, as I judged others. I also recognized that I would shrink if subjected to the withering criticism that I was subjecting others too. In that moment, I let go. A weight lifted from my soul. Since that day, I have improved. I am far from perfect, but I am less inclined to focus my energy on my grudges. I have not entirely succeeded.

I have to be careful in telling this story because there are innocent, well-meaning people who were caught in the middle of this particular scenario. I will speak in generalities as much as I can.

I have a unusually ability to perceive how events will happen before they happen. Not all the time, but enough that I have plenty of ammo to say "I told you so." In November, circumstances arranged themselves that I recognized that if I made a specific series of choices, there was a high chance I would end up in a situation I didn't want to be in. More like, a situation I dreaded with every fiber of my being and had the potential to trigger panic attack levels of anxiety. My husband told me I was being silly and irrational and paranoid. So I went along with my husband, trusting--hoping--that I was wrong. I took steps to protect myself, hoping that things would turn out differently than I had foreseen. I made a resolve that I would stand my ground and I would not go along with any situation that I wasn't completely okay with.

Right about the time I returned from Boston and that nightmarish travel experience, it became apparent that events were afoot that would land me in the exact predicament that I had tried to avoid.

When I realized what was happening, I spent a day collapsed on the couch, despondent. I cried myself to sleep. I cried in the middle of the day. I shut down. I haven't done that since we first moved to Russia and I was coping with bouts of depression. In many respects, this turn of events tainted my holidays; an undercurrent of anxiety was my constant companion and I was filled with dread. A lead weight filled me. I couldn't believe that after all that I had done--and tried to do--this very unfair burden would be placed on me. I did what I could to mitigate the damage, to try and find a way to make the situation more fair. I talked to people who had decision making power. I tried, futilely to stand my ground.

Long story short: it became apparent that yes, I could stand my ground and get out of the mess, but getting out of the mess wasn't the right thing to do. There was no one else who could do what needed to be done. I had been bullied and railroaded into a circumstance where the choice was between doing what was fair--what I wanted--and what was needed. I could foresee that the "fair" option would have unintended ripples--negative ripples that wouldn't be fair to others. So I went along with it, I took one for the team so that others wouldn't haven't to pay for my justice crusade.

This is the problem I'm wrestling with: I am still angry. I have a bitter taste in my mouth every time I think of the individual whose sloppiness, perhaps even laziness and thoughtlessness, put me in such a bad position. I am confident that this individual is completely unaware of my feelings, most likely oblivious. Something important was taken from me that I will not be able to get back. Some lovely things happened too, but I am still tipping back and forth on the fulcrum of "fair," and "justice," wanting some kind of recognition that I was messed over. It isn't like anything can be undone.

Maybe I want an apology. Maybe I want a recognition that I was right in predicting the situation I landed in. Maybe I want someone to say, "I'm sorry." I need someone to care what happened and at least acknowledge the fact that I was wronged and acknowledge what was lost because this idiot's behavior. I want someone to hurt because I was hurt. I've had sympathy. I want justice.

I don't know why this is bothering me so much. I want--I need--to let go. But I won't lie: I've played and replayed the scenario in my head where I see this individual and I get to say exactly what I think and it isn't pretty. It is incisive and articulate so no doubt can be left in this person's mind. The odds are that won't happen because there's another competing voice in my head that says "Be the adult. Be the bigger person. Be like Jesus. Your problems can hardly compare to His." I don't want to be the bigger person. I want this individual to cry like a little girl and say, "Wow, Heather. I blew it and I'm sorry" and mean it.

I know that how events played out made a positive difference in some people's lives. I received a sweet thank you note from someone just yesterday that made me pause in my grudge holding and recognize that yes, someone, somewhere, cared and understood my sacrifice. They used words like "love" and "joy" and "gratitude" and service"--about ME. Me. Miss Resentful 2010. There is no question that I was sustained by a power beyond myself, enabling me to accomplish something I didn't think I could. Shouldn't this be enough? Shouldn't I be grateful that I didn't end up curled in the fetal position having nightmares?

And yet, from time to time, I am consumed with the violent impulse to smack someone hard across the face and kick them in the shins until big black bruises appear. Fair. Fair. Fair. Just. Just. Just.

In this case, I was right. They were wrong. A lot of people stood by wringing their hands, saying how sorry they were, tutting disapprovingly, but that didn't change the outcome. Why didn't they DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT! Why didnt' someone PROTECT ME? So why isn't knowing that people are on my side enough?

I had hoped by writing this out I would sort some things out. I think I will be teetering back and forth on the fulcrum for awhile until I can let go. But how?